Victor Hugo

More of my (French) home town. The building to the right of the bridge is the Hotel Victor Hugo. When I first came here 36 years ago, this was a derelict building. The following year when I came back, there was a bar and restaurant in it. The proprietors were Tom (Scottish/Irish) and his partner, Jean-Luc (the chef, and a local boy). We became firm friends, and over the years, through their unstinting hard work, they developed the whole building into a hotel, extending the restaurant, and spilling out to a courtyard at the back. During our lean years in the early 2000s, we ran writing courses here twice a year. People came from all over the world to take part, staying at the hotel, and eating Jean-Luc's wonderful cuisine. It kept us solvent at a time when nothing else seemed likely to.

Eight years ago Tom dropped dead in a casino in a nearby town. Jean-Luc got hit with massive inheritance tax and had to sell. Last weekend he got married to a lovely man called Michel whose partner of many years had died after years of suffering dementia. Neither of them has anything to do now with the Victor Hugo, and we never eat there any more - not only for sentimental reasons, but because the food is not very good.

But it stands there still, on the corner, on the far side of the bridge, a constant reminder of happy days and good friends.